


Valentine's Prompts

by in_chains_and_flesh_and_leather



Category: BlacKkKlansman (2018), Girls (TV), Hungry Hearts (2014), Logan Lucky (2017), Midnight Special (2016), Not Waving But Drowning (2012), Paterson (2016), Tracks (2013)
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29397660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_chains_and_flesh_and_leather/pseuds/in_chains_and_flesh_and_leather
Summary: A collection of prompts from over on Tumblr about the boys <3§ Flip with Cupid’s wings (literally) knocking your lights out (nsfw)§ Snowball fight with Flip§ Paul helps you fix your pipes and then some§ Clyde’s favorite romantic movie§ Paul loves kissing your hands§ How Flip realized he’s in love§ The most attractive thing you can wear for Rick§ Jude’s sweetest romantic memory§ Adam (NWBD) starts to believe in soulmates§ Flip’s favorite love story, what makes him blush, love at first sight§ Rick’s crushes and falling in love§ What makes Sackler blush§ Kisses with Jude§ Paterson and love letters and poems
Relationships: Adam (Not Waving But Drowning)/You, Adam Sackler & You, Adam Sackler/Reader, Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You, Flip Zimmerman/Reader, Flip Zimmerman/You, Jude (Hungry Hearts)/You, Paterson (Paterson)/Reader, Paul Sevier/Reader, Paul Sevier/You, Rick Smolan/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Anonymous said:**

_**I have kind of a smutty take on one of your prompts. The one about ‘can you wear the Santa hat for me?’ I think it would be fun and smutty if you bag one of the grumps, like Flip or Pale, into wearing the Santa hat for a party with you. Later, they’re fucking you while trying to keep the Santa hat on. If I could please request that. Or something lol. Thank you for opening requests! 🖤** _

_***** _

I’m gonna go with Cupid’s wings on this one because I saw it on a show once and I’ve always wanted to write about it <3 Also, sorry for the delay!

Also also, I added a little line in there because I’m a spiteful little jerk, see if you can spot it <3

CW: NSFW, breath play (kind of), blacking out, mirror sex

*

You decided to stop by the station with your good news.

With a pair of novelty Cupid’s wings hanging on each shoulder and a plastic bow and arrow that was barely able to fire, you stalked quietly through the station, finger over your lips making everyone quietly ignore you as you crept closer to Flip. He was sitting as his desk, reading through some files rather intently, so you could walk up close enough to prick him with your arrow, not even having to shot and almost surely miss. He winced and turned, face immediately brightening from that annoyed scowl when he thought it was someone from the station fucking with him. Taking your hand and caressing it with his long, thick fingers, making your stomach drop and face heat instantly, he took your little costume in, shooting an inquisitive brow at you. – “What are you doing here, Cupid? Everything alright?”

You nodded excitedly. – “Great news – my sister’s sick!” – you beamed.

His brow still in inquisitive mode, Flip’s eyes narrowed and his hand stopped running that calloused thumb over the back of your hand, giving you a brief reprieve from those searing bolts the motion was shooting through your body. – “Oh, you don’t have to babysit!” - he finally remembered, your excitement over your sister’s illness now making more sense.

“Yeah.” – you smiled and leaned closer. – “So hurry home.” – you whispered low, the sultry tone making Flip close his eyes, blood pooling low ever so gently, feeling himself fill out and get more sensitive, that soft yearning to be back at home, with his girl and have her hands on him and his on her, knowing it would happen soon, making his blood grow hotter.

You gave him a slow, deliberate kiss, letting him know in no uncertain terms he was expected at home, asap, and to stretch out his hammies. He captured you in a deeper kiss, arms snaking up your thighs so you couldn’t get away and when the wolf whistles and cheers started, you finally pulled back, his hand only managing to yank at one of your wings as you stepped out of reach. Better get back to his report and wrap it up, fast, he thought, casting his eyes down and depriving himself of looking at your backside as you walked away, so his thoughts might remain somewhat clear. But who was he kidding, he thought better, eyes shooting up to look at you through his eyebrows and he clenched his jaw.

“Ron, Patrice is expecting you at seven sharp.” – you reminded as he needed to get going within minutes if he was going to make it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there. Early too.” – he assured with his usual confidence and you hoped he would come through.

“Great.” – you nodded and moved along.

“Hey, uh, Cupid? Is it me or is one of your wings askew?” – he got up and cocked his head to look at your costume.

You stopped and gave it a pointed look before slipping it back over your shoulder. – “Thank you very much, detective Stallworth.”

“And where’s your little b-OW!” – he continued to tease, but Flip cracking the flimsy bit of plastic over his head made him shut up.

“It’s right here, rookie. And I advise you don’t ask about the arrow.” – Flip warned with a loaded look and Ron threw his hands up defensively, backing away.

*

Flip shed his clothes quickly when he came in, moving on to yours with equal speed, pushing you against the wall of your bedroom for support as he tugged your pants and bottom down and threw them aside, planting quick kisses up your body on his way to your lips, devouring and licking into you in a way that felt absolutely pornographic, some wary instinct wanting to make sure your blinds were closed because the scene was utterly filthy.

He broke the kiss to let you both catch your breath for a minute, smiling as he felt himself rub from the crease of your thigh up to your hip and watched you lick your lips with a satisfied look softening your face, knowing he was going to give you exactly what made you press your things together all day as you waited for him.

“Can you, uh, wear the wings for me?” – you asked, leaning your head to the side, watching the curious look on his face and his eyes landing on your hand, picking up the wings from the night stand.

“You serious?” – he asked in his low voice, inspecting them, pinched between two fingers.

“Well, it _is_ Valentine’s.” – you shrugged, running your nails from his chest down to the smattering of hair above his hard cock, not touching it before he acquiesced. – “And you’ve seen me in them, I’d like to see you.”

Flip held your gaze in that attractively arrogant way he knew how to pull off, big tough man pleasing his girl’s silly demands before he fucks her senseless, barely shrugging the wings on over his massive shoulders.

He looked at himself in the full length mirror and changed the angle to be able to see, amused by the sight – it was ridiculous, his naked body, dick flushed already from being hard for this long, stupid wings flapping - but willing to play along for you.

“You like how these look?” – he smiled with one corner of his mouth, wanting to tease you, but also anxious to feel you from the inside. You nodded, running your hands up his chest and over his shoulders, adjusting them. Flip moved his hungry eyes up your naked form and stopped at your lips, leaning in slowly and you leaned in too, only to suddenly feel him grip tightly around your arms and turn you to face the wall. –“Why don’t you watch me fuck you then?” – he kicked a chair across the room to get a better view of you two in the mirror and pressed your head into the wall, leaning his forehead into the back of that hand, watching his long veiny cock as he stroked its full length a few times and then adjusting your hips as he teased you with the tip, slicking himself up and then sinking in, the feeling augmented by the visual of you leaning into him greedily, moving to find the right angle as he speared in, brushing every spot, every ridge in you, making you feel every delicious, hard inch of him. He glanced sideways, to see your face in the mirror, mouth hanging open, a silenced groan wanting to come out, eyes shut as you relaxed gradually, already gushing and easing around him with a deep throb. He relished the feeling of being seated inside you comfortably, the slick and heat as he sank as far as he could go feeling maddeningly good every single time. Your eyes met in the mirror and he kept looking, twitching inside you from this unexpected sight; your reflection and seeing himself, wings hanging off his shoulders, thighs and ass rippling as they pressed up into you, face wild with arousal, and you so receptive, beautiful and all his, it made his heart kick up, throbs painful and fast.

He pulled out and sank back in once slowly, seeing you watch him too, eyes traveling from his softly undulating wings down his powerful back to his hips, pushing into you again and he could feel the flutter the sight produced inside of you. With more vigor, he repeated the movement, your lip disappearing between your teeth and a moan vibrating against it. As he thrust a few more times, those first filthy sounds of shlicking came and he heard your shuddering moan, he knew this first round wouldn’t be long. You were both too eager for each other, he was already feeling his balls tightening from watching himself fuck you, you were gushing like crazy, so there was no drawing this out. That would have to be round two or three. But if it couldn’t be long, it could be fun.

He slammed your hands up the wall like he was about to frisk you, pinning you even closer to the wall, taking away any ability to unpin your chest from it and take a breath. Each thrust, coming hard and fast, slipping inside you to the hilt, pushed the little air you had up out of you. It was strangely exhilarating, feeling like Flip was somehow physically expanding as you were diminishing into his hold, into the merciless fucking he was giving you, one eye barely able to see him in the mirror, teeth bared, face screwed up with effort as he put all his focus into his thrusts, making sure to hit all your spots every time. You threw your head back and gasped for shallow breaths as he crowded even closer around you, sliding your arms down to your sides to use your own and his arms to cage you in, chest smothering around you, grunting mouth biting into your shoulder, your pressed up faces barely visible in the mirror, looking at each other in it.

“You wanna breathe?” – he asked your reflection and took your desperate shallow breaths as a yes. – “Then you gotta cum for me. Come on, _fuck_ , come on.” – he grunted as he pistoned faster, the shortness of breath and the grueling pace making you see stars. – “I can feel you’re so close, baby, come on, cum for me.”

You pressed your thighs tighter together for some more friction, willing yourself to cum, knowing it would be any second now you reached that summit and then plummeted over it, wanting to feel it before your consciousness narrowed too much.

And then finally, you felt it, that bone deep clench that felt like your entire insides were clamping down, every muscle in your body taut and suspended for a moment. The intensity and length of that moment, his cock crushed by your walls made him curse and shoot rope after rope of cum, pulsing from deep inside his gut to the tip, stilling inside you as he came.

Ears ringing, vision blacking out at the corners, then tunneling and finally dropping out of consciousness, the only awareness you had was your spasming, shuddering core and limbs giving out.

*

You came to on the bed, Flip over you with his wings, caressing down your face and smoothing hair out of the way. Your heart was still beating very fast, and you felt your lungs greedily sucking in breaths now that they were free. Vision came in flashes and blurs before you could focus on Flip, eyes wide with worry and eyebrows knitted, in fear, in self-reproach, in shock.

“Oh, fucking hell.” – he sighed in relief as you gave a small smile, realizing what just happened and he dove in for a long, hard kiss on your forehead, equally for his and your sake.

“Shit, I’m sorry. That was… too much.” – he apologized when he finally leaned back and looked at you, breathing steadying and body relaxing.

You laughed at his worry, as if you weren’t still feeling that absolute detonation of an orgasm course through your body, already planning for more similar encounters, but it came out a little feebly, like you were high. – “I don’t know if I should tell everyone and embarrass you or tell no one and not give you credit.”


	2. Chapter 2

_**Anonymous said: Can I please request your first Christmas with Flip and maybe a snowball fight? Thank you very much!** _

*

So I’m gonna cheat and make this first Valentine’s, I hope you don’t mind and sorry for the wait! <3

CW: tiniest whiff of angst and then some snowball fluff

*

It’s been a long while since Flip had a Valentine. Even when there was a partner in his life, time went by so fast, work ran long and he’d wake up on February 15 or 16 to a ball of anger, clanging in protest in the kitchen, shirking away from kisses or not picking up the phone, and only figure it out another day or two later after someone complained about a wife and he threw in he was in the doghouse too, who knows why, getting a full frontal laugh to the face from his colleagues, wondering how he ever made detective.

But the trick, it seemed, was caring. It seems callous to say, as if he didn’t care about the others, but this was a different quality of caring. He thought of ways to make you smile, suck you in closer, steal little crumbs of your presence throughout the day. A memento from your first date in his wallet, which he never did before, a picture in his desk, inside a notebook because he couldn’t quite bring himself to put it on his desk yet, thoughts of you crowding into every nook and cranny in his head.

So he did all the good boyfriend things, got you a present, made reservations at a nice restaurant, planned on being rested, hydrated and rubbing one out out of courtesy so he could give you that long, slow, sensual loving when it all wound down. Perfect.

Only thing was, his schedule wasn’t cooperating. Everyone was stuck working late, angry wives and girlfriends be damned, and he was lucky he even got a few minutes to himself, barking at Landers when he tried to get him off the phone to the restaurant, asking them to let you know he was not coming.

Oh, you knew. It was already close to an hour he was late, and you’d gotten there early. Sure, you told yourself this was a distinct possibility and it wouldn’t be his fault if something prevented him from coming, but did it suck? Did you feel stupid, sitting there alone, drinking a glass of wine like the loneliest creature in the world while couples waltzed in and out? Instead of answering that rhetorical question, you downed your wine, paid and left, becoming entranced with your cuticle situation as a way not to look at the surprised or sympathetic faces following you as you made your way out of the restaurant. 

*

Your neighbors’ kids saw you making a whole bunch of snowballs and stacking them high, running out to ask you what you were doing.

“I’m gonna fire as many of these as I can at uncle Flip’s head when he comes back home.” – you informed them too flatly for it to be a joke and they looked appraisingly from you, to the snowballs, to each other and asked if they could join you.

“Oh, the more, the merrier. But you gotta ask your mom and dad first.” – you stipulated and they ran for the door, excited about potentially being sanctioned to attack the tall, intimidating detective that lived next door and let them hang off his long, strong body like a jungle gym. 

Their mom did it right, you contemplated as you smoothed snowballs in your cold hands. Married a nice electrician with normal working hours. Handy around the house too. At the house long enough to _be_ handy. Sure, he wore tank tops outside the house way too often and said ‘infer’ when he meant ‘imply’, but would he get shot through the head at work? Not very likely.

The kids came back out, all bundled up and excited, and joined you in industriously making a whole pyramid of snowballs. You even sacrificed some of your ammo to check your aim, limber up as you chased each other and screamed, aiming and ducking out of the way with varying levels of success.

Soon enough, your recognized the sound of Flip’s car and you four hid behind trees and bushes, waiting for him to step out. He parked and gathered up the half wilted flowers that were sitting around all day, waiting be delivered to you, not bothering to close his jacket for the few steps between the car and the house.

Snowballs pelted him from every direction it seemed and he whipped around, startled, trying to determine where it was all coming from and how many shooters there were. He spotted you easily, being taller than the kids and not trying to hide at all – quite the contrary, this was a little reminder that you existed too and your patience had limits. The kids, however, incentivized by milkshakes to aim for his face and crotch, tried to stay out of sight, but their giggles gave away their positions.

Flip, more snow than man, doubled over with his hands in front of his face and made long strides in your direction. He easily tackled you, throwing your into the snow, getting the last of your snowballs mushed rather than thrown into the back of his head.

“Why don’t you fight me like a man instead of this ambush?” – he asked, managing to grab hold of and then pin both your arms to your chest with one of his, the other gathering snow and pushing it into your face, going up your nose and in your mouth as you tried to protest. Flip was not the gentlest of men and he was passionate about retaliation, so you knew something like this would befall you if he caught you.

“Get him, kids!” – you called out while he was scooping up more snow to suffocate you under and they ran out from their hiding places, throwing some remaining snowballs – you catching some friendly fire as well – and dogpiling Flip. He shook them off carefully, letting go of you too and picked the middle one up, roaring and shaking him in the air while the youngest clung onto his leg, wrapping his arms and legs around it and sitting on the foot and the older grabbed him around the waist, barely closing her arms around him and his jacket, trying in vain to pull him down.

Flip dragged the three kids along and discovered their stash of snowballs, quickly commandeering it, and evened the score by landing at least three on each kid, never missing. They ran into the house and then it was just you two.

Flip turned, with an armful lined with polished white globes, deliberating whether you should be taken in for questioning or just dispatched there and then.

“Do not. Dare.” – you warned as he slinked closer with the gait of predator and he easily let his arms open and let all his ammo fall and sink into the surrounding snow.

He approached and stood looking at you, wet and covered in snow, the heat of your own face slowly melting the bits still clinging to your lashes and hair, long, white puffs of breath evaporating into the night.

“Not the greatest first Valentine’s, huh?” – he asked, feeling like an apology was obviously due, but a little reluctant to give it after the attack.

“I dunno, it’ll probably make for a funny story in the future. Memorable, at least.” – you shrugged, neither of you wanting to make the first move towards the house, as if that meant blinking and the other person winning.

Finally. Flip took you by the arms, put them around his neck and you had just enough time to brace yourself and hop up as he bent down and gathered your things and ass and hoisted you into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist and carried you in, so nobody had to lose.

“Did you bring me anything from the restaurant?” – he asked, not too much hope in his voice.

“Nope.” – you responded flatly. Of course not.

“Figures.” – he shrugged as he opened the door, letting you kick it open. – “Guess I’ll just skip right to desert.”

*


	3. Chapter 3

**Holiday Prompts, yes! I saw this and for some reason my mind went “Paul!” so…. :D I am requesting Paul with the premise “The pipes in the character’s house freeze and break and an unlikely person offers help.” Neighbors? Co-workers? Or a random encounter at a deli maybe? Thank you in advance <3**

*

_M, mi querida, I started writing this on actual Christmas! But then I never finished it because the ideas kept coming and I couldn’t keep up! I hope you will accept some Valentine’s pipe bursts and cuddles <3_

*

§ “So nobody thought to turn the heating back on?” – you asked, too cold and surprised to fully feel the annoyance of coming back from a ten-day work trip to a cold apartment and frozen bathroom.

“I guess not. The repair crew just left after they were done… It’s just that everyone else lives with someone or they had a neighbor come over to…” – the maintenance guy started to explain and you saw red.

“Kay, thanks!” – you chirped as you hung up.

_Thanks very much for reminding me that I’m single and alone and friendless, as I freeze in my apartment and go to a bed as cold as my heart, super appreciate it, buddy._

§ You went around the building door to door to see if anyone was home. Most people were adults, and out on dates. There were a few grannies who had no idea what tools you needed and could offer no more than butterscotch candy. Finally, you had one door you felt good about.

§ It felt mean to think, but you’d seen your neighbor Paul around once or twice at odd hours. He seemed to work a lot and always have his mind elsewhere. The grannies never gossiped about women, or men, going into or out of his place, and they miss nothing. They may not have wrenches lying around, but nothing gets past them. So if only he wasn’t at work, you could be reasonably sure he didn’t have a date. It would sound meaner if the same didn’t apply to you.

§ He was home, thank goodness, and he answered the door a bit tentatively, surprised anyone was knocking and at this time. Hair disheveled after he ran his hand through it a few times and ruffled it, trying to get rid of that dull headache caused by the screen he was in front of the whole day, he was standing there in a mustard shirt, more moles dotted around his skin than you’d ever seen before, especially up close, face tired, but endlessly bright and profound. It’s rare to get such positive, unpretentious vibes just from a simple look. At least you wouldn’t feel like a total idiot asking for help.

§ Paul listened to your rambling about being away and not thinking you would need to worry about heating and how you’re not sure what to do, but if he had any tools he could lend you for the night, you would appreciate it. If you noticed his eyes wandering up and down behind his glasses, you didn’t show it and he cleared his throat before just saying a blanket _yes_ to everything and shutting the door in your face.

§ You stood there for a moment, lips parted like a fish, as if it could have been a mistake. Then looked around and there was luckily no one to see you stand there like a fool. You waited for a bit and heard some clattering inside, assuming he was looking for something. But it went on and on and you started to doubt if he had meant to imply he would help you at all, or he’d forgotten, or you were just crazy. So slowly, you started to inch away, ready to leave and just hope for the best when he finally reemerged, pristine toolbox in hand and a go-getter smile on his face, ready to examine your pipes. You told him, like a good neighbor, he was too kind and needn’t bother, but you couldn’t lie – it would be comforting to have another person there to at least share the blame if you accidentally shut off water for the entire building. He was too polite and aware of your nerves to retract his offer, and he didn’t feel like spending a night at home alone, eating or jerking himself to sleep, was superior to trying to fix your problem.

§ He walked through the apartment, trying to surreptitiously glance around, as did you; he, looking for clues to your personality, looking at the décor, the shelves, the walls; you, looking for messes and things that should not be seen. You spotted a few things you’d hide under cushions and shove behind a door as soon as you could and led him into the bathroom.

§ He got to work immediately, looking for what valve to shut off and you stood uselessly behind him for a few moments since it was a job for one person before coming up with an excuse to go. You offered to make some hot cocoa to battle the cold and he accepted, but you found your pantry and fridge woefully empty. The only thing that could be fashioned into a recognizable drink was gin and tonic.

§ “Hey, sorry, I offered before I had a look around. Is gin and tonic okay?” – you asked, already sipping from your glass and, to your slight visual dismay, Paul went from protruding his little butt as he struggled with the valve to standing up to take the drink.  
“Sure, thank you.” – he accepted and took a sip, glancing to the side, thinking of some topics of conversation.  
“It’s not hot, but alcohol warms you up too, right?” – you shrugged.

§ The _um, actually_ sentence already started to form in his head and he inhaled to blurt it out. It’s actually the opposite, with blood vessels expanding and the liver working overtime, actually lowering your core body temperature while making you feel deceptively warm for a while. But hey, he was not in the arctic, so it wouldn’t matter, you were cute as hell, he was finally not spending a night alone and did not need his smart mouth to ruin this for him. He shut his mouth and saw the expectant look on your face, quickly doing an internal 180. – “Yeah, absolutely.”

§ He set the drink down and set about positioning the space heater to thaw the area out and you backed out again, glancing at his phone screen before it locked. He had some blog pulled up about fixing frozen pipes and you couldn’t stop the smile before it spread all the way to your eyes, bubbles of heat boiling in your tummy and fizzing all the way to the top of your head. How adorable was he? His huffing and constant glancing around now made sense – he had no real clue what he was doing. But you loved that he would give it a try just to help you out. And maybe spend some time with you?

§ You chatted over drinks while you waited for the plug to thaw, first wrapped in blankets, and then relaxing as the apartment slowly heated up. Delivery came and you had a little impromptu dinner. He learned about your job, some of your interests; you learned the little you could about his – lead operations analyst, hush hush, long hours. Newly found interest in string theory, cosmogony, the multiverse… On the more mundane end of things, chess, Sudoku, classic novels. He kept his scouring of 4chan and Reddit, decrypting Cicada 3301 clues, as well his extensive collection of bondage porn and lesbian erotica, all of which took up a significant portion of his down time, to himself.

§ Relieved when he confirmed he was staunchly single, you still wondered how. Sure, long hours made it difficult to date, but you then usually just cut your losses and date someone from work. Surely, the NSA ladies would love to break themselves off a piece of cute pie Paul. Features in his face danced when you confirmed you too were without a date (and prospects, but let’s not dwell on that) and the half-joke, half-flirt presented itself, staring you both in the face unblinking – _ha ha, I guess we’re each other’s Valentine this year_. You both saw it, but there was too much truth in it, too much hope on both ends that it might turn into more than just a joke that it couldn’t be uttered. Being too used to solitude and then unexpectedly awash in fun and flirtation and emotion and connection was a big change, so it wasn’t easy to talk, let alone joke, about.

§ You both saw it in the other’s eyes, then the amused hesitation, the possibility and hope, and as if in agreement, laughed it off for the moment, as if it had been uttered, and continued to share a warm look, Paul leaning in over the armrest of the couch, your chin resting in your hand, knuckles half covering your smile.

§ It could be so lovely, just like this. At home, hopefully just a tad warmer, with a working bathroom. Paul sitting on the couch under your blanket, telling you about that article he read in The Astrophysical Journal, his broad back crowding in your lap as you play with his hair… It seemed so easy at this moment; why was something so simple and beautiful so elusive?

§ He got up to check on the pipes, snapping you back into the moment and you wondered if it was awkwardly obvious where your thoughts had gone.

§ Paul too was off on a belly-heating train of thought. He could come over, fix this mess, say it was no biggie because _he was a great guy to have around, don’t you know._ Not that he would expect any such favor, but you could say thank you, lean against his back, all soft and warm, and snake your arms around him and ask him to stay. He’d stay for anything, to keep talking, to peruse your bookshelves, to give you long, long, slow kisses and press you close on the couch. Hell, he’d stay and change your light bulbs and clean your oven, as long as he was with you a bit longer.

§ He was all starry eyed and gooey in the middle that he didn’t notice any warning sounds and hisses and only realized he did not properly shut the valve when a powerful stream of water gushed right at his face, cold and jarring like a punch, sending him flat on his ass, feet slipping under him and landing on his back, thoroughly cold and wet.

§ You started approaching from the door as soon as you heard the initial noise, instinctively coming closer when the water gushed, as if you could do much of anything, slipping yourself as poor Paul flailed and barely staying upright when you braced against the sink.

§ Through the scene, you tried asking if he was alright, but he looked like a drowned mouse without his glasses, frantically feeling for them and the wrench, which made it impossible not to laugh. You tried plugging up the smaller cracks in the pipe with your hand, while also reaching for his glasses and received a bump on the nose from his solid forehead for your trouble. Now fully under the stream of water, nose throbbing and whiting out your vision, you strung curse words as you continued to laugh, Paul apologizing profusely while squinting through his wet glasses and pawing at the valve.

§ Finally, the stream of water stopped and you both sat back on your haunches or the wet floor and breathed hard, as the adrenaline drained from you and the chill was once again felt.

§ Instead of changing, Paul decided to help mop up the water with some towels and turned on the space heater again in the end to dry up what couldn’t be soaked up immediately.

§ You sighed, exhausted from the adventure and the cleaning, soaked like a little mouse yourself, and snorted at his rather confident tone. – “Is that what your blog said to do?”  
“Actually, yes.” – Paul seemed to be over the initial awkward introductory phase and didn’t blush at the call out like you might have expected. – “We should change and…” – he motioned from the top of his dripping head all the way down. – “Dry up.”  
“Um, about that…” – you grinned to hide your embarrassment. – “My blow dryer got it good in there, so I think I might have to ask you for another favor.”

§ Back at Paul’s, after he apologized for the non-existent mess, save for some styrofoam containers and dishes, you were in the bathroom, taking a nice warm shower, while he stood outside waiting gentlemanly for his turn, wet hair in a towel, dripping clothes in a pile and a bathrobe tied around his middle.

§ “Sorry, could I just…” – he knocked, asking apologetically.  
“It’s okay, come on in.” – you told him from behind the shower curtain. It was opaque enough that he could root around in there and not make you feel uncomfortable.  
With a little gulp, he opened the door just to fit his torso through and reach in to toss the wet clothes into the hamper, but as he retreated, he couldn’t help a quick glance at the shower curtain, seeing just a bit of a steamy silhouette in there. Closing his eyes to capture the scene behind his lids, he slowly leaned out and closed the door, tingles running around his body and low belly hot.

§ By the time he was done with his shower, your hair was dry and decidedly unstyled – great look to be sporting around the cutest, geekiest and surprisingly sexiest little nerd you’d ever stumbled across. So you caught as much of it as you could with some ties and clips, considering popping on the hood of your hoodie and just climbing inside it until you disappeared.

§ Before you could even speak, Paul came out in his sleep shirt and pajama bottoms, toweling his now clean hair and announced he would feel much better if you stayed over. The couch pulls out – he’d offer you his bed, but that’s weird since you just met and it’s not that much more comfortable than the bed anyway. You could stay in a warm place, get ready there and move on with your day when your place is taken care of.

§ “I don’t want you catching a cold or something.” – he concluded innocently, where his real objective was making sure you didn’t forget your friendly neighbor and he had an excuse to hit you up again. – “We’ll get back to it in the morning.” – he nodded in the direction of your apartment and sat opposite you to be on eye level.  
You liked the proposition and he was good enough to give you several reasons to stay, so you could seem worn down by his logic as opposed to super eager to snuggle into his sheets anyway and think about what those pretty lips tasted like till you fell asleep. – “We’ll call a plumber is what we’ll do.” – you corrected and conceded.  
“Okay.” – he nodded cheerily, with no protest, as long as it was _we_ and not just _I_.

§ He made the couch while you nipped out to get some sleepwear and necessities, and you walked back in, both standing by the couch, time to say goodnight.

§ The same understanding passed between you as it did during the Valentine’s discussion. _You could totally kiss me and I’d love it, but I know that’s a bit much. – I’d love to kiss you and see where it all went, but for now, I’m glad you’re here._

§ “Sorry I flooded your bathroom. And almost broke your nose.” – Paul said, with a hand on your shoulder, venturing just a little bit of contact and seeing how you reacted. You smiled, with a lip between your teeth, and his fist victoriously punched the air inwardly, _yes_!  
The hand slid down your arm and you caught two of his fingers with your own, lingering for a moment and sending electricity sparking through both of you. - “Sorry I almost drowned and froze you.”  
He laughed and looked down, catching a glimpse of your fingers, curled around each other and his chest squeezed. - “I guess we’ll have to find a way to make it up to each other.”  
You nodded, hiding your face so he wouldn’t see your stupid, lovestruck expression.

§ The plumber came, the pipe was fixed, but it didn’t matter in the long run because within a few short months, you’d moved in with Paul anyway. The grannies first gossiped about you two, running from one apartment to the other at all hours of the night, shamelessly emerging from the other’s apartment the next day or the day after that.

§ Luckily, his apartment was soundproofed and you could moan and scream freely as he put into practice what he’d read in his Sapphic collections and, no, it was not the deciding factor in finally moving in there, but it definitely didn’t hurt.

§ He got plenty of from-behind hugs he dreamed of, leaning back to rest his head against yours and let you play with his belly, and you got to hold him in your lap, his heavy torso pressing pleasantly into you, hear about his day and weave your fingers in his dark hair until he dozed off, safe and comfy, with that serene, blank expression, chest rising and falling with small snores.

§ You looked at him, better and lovelier than you could even guess back when you met, and leaned down, whispering _I love you_ , as you placed a soft kiss on his forehead. Your hair tickled him and he woke up, looking around before realizing it was you, feeling the warm ghost of your lips on his forehead still. – “Did you say something?” - he asked, with sleep still in his eyes.  
“You’re adorable.” – you stroked along his jaw, heart fluttering at the thought that soon you’d tell him this when he was wide awake. Paul just smiled like a happy cat and continued purring, snuggling closer and closing eyes to disappear into your touch.

*


	4. Chapter 4

> Hello my lovely love! May I request #32 from the Valentine’s asks for Clyde? Please 💘
> 
> **Yesss, perfect, my love, I missed writing something for that beautiful man this Valentine’s <3**

**32\. Favorite romcom (or any romantic movie)?**

* 

§ Clyde’s favorite romantic movie became _The Enchanted Cottage_ , from 1945.

§ He’d seen a bit of it on TCM one day, as their ma used to love old timey movies.

§ He never imagined it would one day become so personal to him.

§ After his injury, it took a long time to step back out into society. In the interim, he felt like he’d read every book and seen every movie that might appeal to him, all the while staving off human contact. He didn’t know what was worse, wearing that stupid prosthetic that was unwieldy, unconvincing and drew attention like flies to shit, or not having it on and seeing the recoiling, the confusion, the pity.

§ So he one evening, as he hid in his trailer, he was busying himself reading summaries of movies and picking one to watch when a few lines caught his attention.

§ _When pilot Oliver Bradford is disfigured by war wounds, he hides from his family, including his mother, after his fiancée is too jarred by his disfigurement to accept it readily. He lives in bitter seclusion in the seaside New England cottage he had rented from its current owner, Mrs. Minnett, for his originally planned honeymoon, while blind concert pianist John Hillgrove who lives nearby befriends him gradually._

_Laura Pennington is a shy, homely maid who has hired on as the cottage’s caretaker and befriends an initially reluctant Oliver after he admires her wood-carving talents. Oliver and Laura gradually fall in love and marry, but after Oliver and Laura fear their marriage is one of mutual pity, the couple discovers that their feelings for each other have mysteriously transformed them. He appears handsome to her and she seems beautiful to him. This “transformation” is perceived only by the two lovers (and the audience). Laura believes that the cottage is “enchanted” because it was rented to honeymoon couples, and in time, the widowed Mrs. Minnett reveals the true story behind the cottage’s legend._

§ The summary brought back some hazy memories of a few scenes he’d once watched with insufficient attention and now he was curious about seeing it in its entirety, but fearful of the insecurities it might stir and wound in him.

§ Needless to say, he was sobbing by the end, hoping one day he too might stumble upon some peaceful cottage where someone gentle and good might meet him and come to love him as he is, making their home there and, as the lady said, keep their love burning, like dry kindling, and forever be to another nothing but fair and handsome.

*

_(First off, how perfect for Clyde? And second, dammit, now I’m gonna fully write an AU about this, I can feel it!)_


	5. Chapter 5

> 49\. Valentine’s day asks Paul please!
> 
> **My lovely boy, thank you for requesting him <3**

**49\. Hand kisses or nose kisses?**

§ Paul has the most sensitive lips in the world.

§ Ever since he was a kid, he was always doing something to them, sucking them in between his teeth and chewing, running his fingers over them…

§ He always enjoyed different textures on them; the eraser of his pen, the prongs of a fork, the chafe of his sweater, his tongue, someone else’s tongue…

§ So when you’re hanging out, watching something, or reading something together, without realizing, he’ll reach out for your hand, run your knuckles over his lips, liking the hills and valleys and his lips dipping in between; push them against the tender inside of your palm, enjoying that softness and warmth; or run your nail down the middle of his lower lip, feeling the ridges and swirls in your fingertips and the hard nail digging into his pillowy lips, nerves slowly awakening and firing off pleasantly through his sensitive lips, down his neck and back, into the pit of stomach and further, until your hand, thoroughly kissed, is no longer enough and he needs an altogether different texture on his lips, now.


	6. Chapter 6

> Happy almost Valentines Day! 💗
> 
> You know I have to ask for a couple Flip HCs!
> 
> 30, 42, and How do you know when you’re in love?
> 
> Hope your weekend is off to a great start!
> 
> **Thank you, my dear, it’s certainly going the right way with these delicious asks 💗**
> 
> **I hope you’re having a good time too and happy almost Valentine’s Day 💗  
> **

*

**30\. Do you prefer to charm, or be charmed?**

§ Flip prefers to be charmed, for sure.

§ When so much of his job is friendly dick measuring contests and using his brain to stop atrocities from occurring, he really enjoys flexing a muscle he doesn’t get to flex often.

§ He relishes making you laugh and squeal, bug your eyes at him; it’s pushing and prodding at your boundaries, at decency; it’s seeing what he does to you and how you react; when you slap his hand to make him snap out of it, or challenge him and make him step it up even more, make good on his claims and winks and jokes and brags.

§ When you roll your eyes, but the corners of your lips are turning up; when you tell him his words have no effect on you, but your eyes are glittering and warm, when you can’t keep your hands to yourself.

§ Besides, you don’t need to do anything to charm him.

§ With your snark, and spunk, and brains, and, let’s be honest, looks, you don’t need another word or action ever again – he already goes cross-eyed when you’re in the same room, though he’d fervently deny this to anyone, expect you, when you’re alone, dancing close in the kitchen or wrapped up in sheets and each other’s skin.

**42\. Do you prefer gazing wistfully out the window or lying dramatically over the sofa?**

§ He’ll take a window, give it the old Charlton Heston middle distance stare, take a drag on his cigarette and mull hard and dark thoughts over in his head.

§ But Flip loves stretching his long body, often tired and stiff from overworking, injuries, stake outs, or the rough training he needs to do to keep up with the demands of his job.

§ He’ll get horizontal, relax his limbs, feel himself sink into the cushions and let his gaze change perspectives. He’s smaller, lower to the ground, his field of vision is open in a different way and he instantly starts thinking in different directions.

§ Conversely, when he gets home, shucks off his jacket, reaps his welcome home kiss and squeezes a handful of something curvy and soft on you, he’ll stretch out on your couch, happy to have you join him if you’re so inclined, and let the weight of the day lift off of him as he listens to your voice.

**How do you know when you’re in love?**

§ He knows when he starts feeling fear again.

§ His training and experience beat that out of him, made him adopt an almost inhuman view of himself when a task is ahead of him. He is not Phillip Zimmerman, 6’3”, 35, man from Colorado Springs, full of breakable bones and spillable blood, whose flesh hurts when shot at. He is what stands between bad people doing bad things to innocents and that is all. He cannot be afraid to get close to danger, to provoke it, to stare it down, let it rip through him. And he isn’t. Wasn’t.

§ When he well and truly falls in love, he feels that nasty, cold, shivering feeling again. It makes him break out in cold sweats and his heart pound in his ears and say silent prayers before he pulls out his gun.

§ He’s not so much afraid for himself. Injuries heal and if the big one happens, it’ll be too late before he even knows it.

§ He’s afraid for you, for what his injured or dead body will mean to you, do to your peace of mind and your heart – the two things he begins to care about above all others.

§ He’s afraid he won’t see you again, won’t wake up to your soft, warm body curled into his, make you cry his name, smell your wet hair and watch you sleep.

§ So he decides he will. No matter what occurs, he _will_ make it back home, give you a suave, crooked smile, dismiss your concerns – _hey, I’m home, aren’t I? Why don’t you stop fussing and bring those hot lips over here, I fucking missed you_ – and not let himself feel just how right you are to be worried, just be grateful he is to be here and that you love him, and he loves you, goddamn it, he loves you so much.


	7. Chapter 7

> Mi querida ❤️ Can I ask for Rick and number 17. what’s the most attractive thing a person could wear? Please and thank you 🥰🤗😍
> 
> **Ohhh, mi querida, how delectable! <3 Thank you so much for the lovely ask <3**

*

§ If you’d have asked him that a few months before he met you, or even a few months into knowing you, he would give a standard response. Heels, lingerie. The pretty lacy ones, in powdery soft colors, that feels a little coarse under his fingers and palms, a contrast to your curves.

§ Make him want to rip them apart, they’re so dainty and mouth-watering, and just this frilly bit of fabric standing between him and what he desperately wants, wants it bare and all for him, to kiss and nip at, run his cheek over, tease with his tongue, hold in his hands, skin to skin. But it’s also beautiful and you would pull his ears if he just got too impatient and ripped your favorite set to shreds, the one that taunts him in his dreams when he’s far away. So plays with it, saves more dizzying images in his mind for when he’s away, until he feels so hot that he might pass out, takes it off as quickly and respectfully as he can when it gets to be too much and feasts on your body.

§ But then he finds that what affects him more profoundly is seeing you later in the night, or the next morning, in his shirt if you slept in it, pulling it down over exactly what he wants to see as you scamper away. Or pulling on his sweater to go to the kitchen and make coffee. How it falls over your fingers and you lean into the collar and breathe deeply, how he feels like he’s holding just from seeing you dressed in something of his. His face splits into a happy, goofy grin and his chest feels too small and he just wants to pull you onto the bed and tickle you and eat you up with kisses because he could just burst with satisfaction and excitement.

§ That’s now the most attractive thing he can see you in – something of his.


	8. Chapter 8

> Maybe 20? From the Valentine’s Asks, for Jude 🥺
> 
> **Ughh, the sweetest memory for the sweetest boy, Ilovehimsomuch <3**

**20\. Sweetest romantic memory?**

*

§ Jude’s mom never read him stories to put him to sleep. She just wasn’t the type. So he could understand how that might be a nice thing to do for a child, bonding – and resolved to read to Luca whenever he could – but never really felt whatever melancholy, warm feeling he was supposed to at the thought of curling up to a parent’s side and disappearing into an adventure.

§ One night, he is home late, after a lot of work and a bunch of errands he needed to run and he knows it’s already basically Luca’s bedtime when he gets in.

§ Not to rile him up too much and mess up his sleep schedule, he decides it would have to suffice just to go outside his room and press up his ear to the door, listen if you guys are up to anything or he’s already asleep.

§ He remembers with shame how he used to do this the first few times he left you alone with him. Regardless of the good vibes you gave him and how his heart jumped to his throat whenever you flashed a smile his way, he was still paranoid, half out of his mind with worry for Luca. So he would listen outside the door, feeling guilty and disgusting when all he heard was Luca laughing and your soothing voice saying something beautiful.

§ He comes up to the door and listens as you read and act out the book for his son, as in love with you as he himself was.

_Then others—evil dwarfs and apes—rushed in to help them, and between them they rolled the huge Lion over on his back and tied all his four paws together, shouting and cheering as if they had done something brave, though, had the Lion chosen, one of those paws could have been the death of them all. But he made no noise, even when the enemies, straining and tugging, pulled the cords so tight that they cut into his flesh. Then they began to drag him toward the Stone Table._

§ “Uh oh!” – comes Luca’s worried little voice.

_“Stop!” said the Witch. “Let him first be shaved.” Another roar of mean laughter went up from her followers as an ogre with a pair of shears came forward and squatted down by Aslan’s head. Snip-snip-snip went the shears and masses of curling gold began to fall to the ground. Then the ogre stood back and the children, watching from their hidingplace could see the face of Aslan looking all small and different without its mane. The enemies also saw the difference._

_“Why, he’s only a great cat after all!” cried one._

_“Is that what we were afraid of?” said another._

_And they surged round Aslan, jeering at him, saying things like “Puss, Puss! Poor Pussy,” and “How many mice have you caught today, Cat?” and “Would you like a saucer of milk, Pussums?”_

§ You do all the voice, Luca squirming in your arms, looking with trepidation from the page to your face, eager to hear how Aslan will get out of this. Your voice softens, and goes sad, tearful for Lucy’s line.

_“Oh, how can they?” said Lucy, tears streaming down her cheeks. “The brutes, the brutes!” for now that the first shock was over, the shorn face of Aslan looked to her braver, and more beautiful, and more patient than ever._

_“Muzzle him!” said the Witch. And even now, as they worked about his face putting on the muzzle, one bite from his jaws would have cost two or three of them their hands. But he never moved. And this seemed to enrage all that rabble._

_Everyone was at him now. Those who had been afraid to come near him even after he was bound began to find their courage, and for a few minutes the two girls could not even see him—so thickly was he surrounded by the whole crowd of creatures kicking him, hitting him, spitting on him, jeering at him._

§ “No…” – Luca’s little hands fly to his petal lips and he pushes harder against you, deeper into your arms to shield him from the sadness. Jude’s heart lurches, and he can hear your voice, muffled against Luca’s hair, soothing him, and the pop of a kiss.

_At last the rabble had had enough of this. They began to drag the bound and muzzled Lion to the Stone Table, some pulling and some pushing. He was so huge that even when they got him there it took all their efforts to hoist him onto the surface of it. Then there was more tying and tightening of cords._

_“The cowards! The cowards!” sobbed Susan. “Are they still afraid of him, even now?”_

_When once Aslan had been tied (and tied so that he was really a mass of cords) on the flat stone, a hush fell on the crowd. Four Hags, holding four torches, stood at the corners of the Table. The Witch bared her arms as she had bared them the previous night when it had been Edmund instead of Aslan. Then she began to whet her knife. It looked to the children, when the gleam of the torchlight fell on it, as if the knife were made of stone, not of steel, and it was of a strange and evil shape. At last she drew near. She stood by Aslan’s head. Her face was working and twitching with passion, but his looked up at the sky, still quiet, neither angry nor afraid, but a little sad._

§ Your own voice gets deeper and quivers as you read, Luca’s large eyes filling with big sparkling tears.

_Then, just before she gave the blow, she stooped down and said in a quivering voice, “And now, who has won? Fool, did you think that by all this you would save the human traitor? Now I will kill you instead of him as our pact was and so the Deep Magic will be appeased. But when you are dead what will prevent me from killing him as well? And who will take him out of my hand then? Understand that you have given me Narnia forever, you have lost your own life and you have not saved his. In that knowledge, despair and die.”_

_The children did not see the actual moment of the killing. They couldn’t bear to look and had covered their eyes._

§ Luca’s face is buried in your chest, hand squeezing a fistful of your shirt, tears rolling down your own face as you hug him and rock him. – “It’s o-okay.” – you sob out, breath hitching as you try to speak. – “He comes back, ho-ney.”

§ Luca stops for a moment, then raises his head and looks at you, afraid to let his little heat grow too hopeful. After a pause, he asks. – “Promise?”

§ “I promise.” – you try to sound as convincing as you can, fresh tears filling up your eyes and trying to twist your face.

§ Luca smiles through his tears, pushing out the last of them as his eyes crinkle in a relived smile. – “Good!” – he claps his hands and you smile as well, feeling a little lighter from his happiness glowing around you.

§ Jude listens to the whole thing just outside, his own heart tightening and eyes watering a little. With a deep breath, he composes himself and comes in. – “What are you two crying about?” – he asks with a smile, opening his arms as Luca clambers out of bed and runs to him, sleep schedule be damned.

§ “Daddy, daddy, Aslan died! But don’t worry, he’ll be okay!” – Luca stumbles over himself to fill his father in on what had been going on in Narnia since their last debrief and Jude gives exaggerated nods and gasps as Luca relays the story, giving you surreptitious serious looks as you put yourself back together, blotting at your face and steadying your breathing.

§ There is gratitude in there, for the magic you are filling his son’s life with, the love, the care you give him, give them both. For accepting him, and all the baggage he comes with, and never hurting his bruised heart by struggling under the weight of it. For giving him so much more than he would have dared ask for.

§ When Luca is put into bed, again, Jude finds you in the den, sitting in the dark, patient and unassuming, like you didn’t know or didn’t want to show you knew his heart is exploding all over the place.

§ He had been holding back, giving you time and million of doors you could use to exit his life, a life that would needlessly complicate yours. But you are here crying over Aslan with his son and waiting for him to be able to give all the attention and strength he has left after everyone else has had the rest. And you take him and hold him so gently and you are happy to be with him and it is an absolute miracle.

§ So he throws caution to the wind because he is tired of having you _carefully_ , loving you _cautiously_ , wanting you _self-sacrificially_ , and throws himself on his knees before you. Without a word, he takes your hands and kisses them, kisses up your arms, into your neck and feels you shiver. He nuzzles along your jaw as his hand finds the zipper of your pants and he hovers for a moment, gives you that one final chance to change your mind.

§ You kiss him fiercely and pull him closer and he’s ripping clothes off you, off himself, diving in to taste your skin because he can’t stay away a moment longer, wanting to love every part at once, immediately, wholly.

§ He makes love to you, at last, on the couch, in the dark, as quietly and lovingly as his roaring desire will allow, and lays sprawled over you, luxuriating in your attention and touch and closeness, feeling like his life is finally starting, going down the right path for once and he knows, with perfect clarity, that nothing has ever felt this good, this sweet before.


	9. Chapter 9

> Silkyyyy,
> 
> can I request 26 from Valentine’s day asks “do you believe in soulmates?” for Adam from not waving but drowning.
> 
> I miss that boy u.u
> 
> love u 💖
> 
> **Aww, I miss him too! He’s so wonderful <3 Thank you for requesting him, love you so much <3**

**26\. Do you believe in soulmates?**

* 

§ Adam’s life is anything but spectacular. Anything but magical.

§ His job, self-admittedly, sucks.

§ He barely has a social life. When he gets dragged out, it’s always begrudgingly, after a lot of back and forth, and ultimately unfulfilling.

§ His main pastime is a tossup between gaming and churning man cream.

§ If you ask him what he wants, he’ll make a joke.

§ If the topic ever veers toward prospects and a path in life, he’ll fling his arms up to the heavens and shove off the question, acting like it doesn’t matter.

§ Why does everything have to have a direction? Why do you have to know exactly where you’d wind up?

§ Is he covering up profound existential dread by saying how these things don’t matter? Oh, yes, big time.

§ But it doesn’t make them any less true.

§ He’s weird, funny in the not humorous way, awkward, powerless, lost. It takes all his energy just to stay afloat.

§ Of course he’s alone, and often lonely, and afraid of more rejection – only confirming that he is, in fact, undesirable, unlovable, unworthy. He has a sneaking suspicion he is, but every scoff, every brush off, every relationship what fizzles out just confirms it yet again, each time a bit more solidly and undeniably.

§ So when he meets you, and feels lightning shoot through him – not just lust, not just a need for validation – it’s terrifying.

§ It’s a dangerous fantasy, and it unfurls in a heartbeat. He can see it all; that you might pick him out in a crowded room, choose him to give your attention to, laugh at his dumb jokes, and mean it, hold his hand as you walk down the street, and it won’t be gross and clammy, that you’ll look into his eyes, really look, and love what you see there. That you’ll go non-verbal and boneless under him and sleep on his chest and he’ll understand what it ‘feels like to be a man’, but also let him sleep in and not drag him to do stupid shit and not call him names for how he likes to spend his time. It’s everything all at once and it makes him shiver.

§ He won’t say he believes in soulmates.

§ It’s irrational, it’s what middle school girls talk about at sleepovers, or so he assumes.

§ He won’t say he believes, not even when you look at him like he hung the Moon.

§ Not when someone interrupts him and you barely contain yourself and let them _almost_ finish, not listening, before jumping in and urging him to continue where he stopped.

§ Not when you sit next to him once, twice, three times when you’re out. Clap his thigh when he says something dumb, laughing with your head tossed back and neck so inviting.

§ Not even when he finally decides he can’t take it any longer and leans in and kisses you in the middle of a sentence and you laugh, vibrating into his lips, arms locking around his neck.

§ You hang on his arm for the rest of the night and kiss him for a long time before you say goodbye, but he still wants more.

§ He’s still afraid to say it in his head when he sits behind you and you take his arms and wrap them tightly around yourself, and his world collapses and there in nothing but the feel of you in his arms.

§ He’s still too afraid even after everyone can see it. They congratulate him, or tease him, or stare jealously from the side, and it’s clear as day that you are transfixed. Everything about him is wonderful, irresistible to you and you look at him, touch him, love him in the exact way he’s always dreamed.

§ But when’s not under that spell that your presence puts on him, he is petrified.

§ Because it’s just so easy. Truly, as easy and unstoppable as falling, hurtling from outer space towards the earth, fast and endless and inexorable, on and on, and deeper and deeper, and there is no going back, there never was.

§ Everything else is just vague, and distant, and elusive, and hard, so hard all the time.

§ Except this one thing, this one amazing thing.

§ Adam believes in soulmates.

§ Not to believe in them would be not to believe in you, and you are the realest thing he’s ever had.


	10. Chapter 10

> I love how you write Flip! Can you please tell us 16, 24, 25? Happy Valentines Day! 💛
> 
> **Thank you so much! <3 I hope my take on him is true to his character, but not some grumpy dom caricature we so often see. Happy Valentine’s Day <3**

**16\. Favorite love story?**

§ If he was lying, Flip’s favorite love story is _The Big Sleep_ (1946).

§ He saw it as a kid and got addicted to film noir; gnarled detectives, quippy, cool and smart; delectable femmes fatales, troubled and tough, equal to the men and completely irresistible; exciting stories, intrigue, danger… They ruled his life.

§ He loves the push and pull between Marlowe and Vivian; how shrewd and unapologetic Marlowe is; how powerful and entrancing Vivian comes across; their innuendo about horses, how they each ride, front runners or coming from behind, who is the saddle… It’s just subtle enough to be sexy and tense, but it’s overflowing with their undeniable attraction all the same. He was hooked on that kind of give and take from the get go and was never able to settle for less.

§ But if he’s being truthful…

§ He’ll look around, make damn sure you’re good and alone, because this is the kind of thing only you and your dame need hear, you don’t just share it with anyone. Truth is, he has a different love story that makes him float up the ceiling, get up in morning and feel warm on cold nights when he’s alone and in danger.

§ Yours.

**24\. What makes you blush?**

§ Flip does not blush easily.

§ He doesn’t blink or twitch or sweat or break his cool poker face for anything. To do anything less would be reckless and insanely dangerous.

§ But when he overhears you gush about him to someone, talking about things you see in him or that he does without thinking, never realizing you notice these things and keep them in your heart, he feels it.

§ When people seeing notice how his voice changes when he’s talking to you on the phone, how light his step after he spends a day or a night with you, how bright he looks in general since you’ve been in his life, he feels it.

§ A flame whoosh from in his chest, burning and stinging up the flesh of his cheeks, setting his ears on fire under his hair, making the top of his head tingle.

**25\. Do you believe in love at first sight?**

§ Flip is a man who trusts his gut, he just knows when something is right, is true.

§ So yes, absolutely. All it took for him was one moment of locking eyes with you to know that the love he would inevitably feel was out of his hands.

§ Everything else in the world blurred, and you stood out, etched in perfect clarity, and he felt like he knew you already, like he’d talked to you and woken up next to you a thousand times before. And then there was some hazy gap in between that perfect connection and now, but he was open and ready; welcoming you home into his arms was the easiest and most natural thing.


	11. Chapter 11

> Could we get 33 for Rick? I love him and especially the way you write him! Thank you!! 💗
> 
> **Thank you so much, he’s such a wonderful boy, a breath of fresh air <3**

**33\. Do you fall in love easily?**

§ Rick’s head is always in the clouds.

He sees the world as a magical playground; everything around him has the potential to be beautiful, his job takes him on adventures he could not have imagined before, he always comes back home richer with a new experience and perspective.

**_Don’t take this the wrong way_ **

**_You knew who I was with every step that I ran to you_ **

§ With that open mind and romantic disposition, Rick has crushes all the time. His liaison, a bespectacled short little thing with a clipboard, a young man whose language he can’t speak dancing around a fire, a tall androgynous model in a catalogue, the waitress with a deep red lipstick who asks excitedly if he takes pictures.

**_Only blue or black days_ **

**_Electing strange perfections in any stranger I choose_ **

§ He takes them with him wherever he goes; sometimes for a day, sometimes a week, occasionally he thinks back on them for months later, recalling a special look they had, the color of their eyes, how they walked or how their laugh sounded unique and hugged him from the inside out, even if he can’t remember the sound itself.

**_Would things be easier if there was a right way?_ **

**_Honey, there is no right way_ **

§ But love? Falling in love? He’s not exactly sure about that.

Love is long and deep and warm and you get used to it after the waves stop crashing and it’s comforting.

His crushes keep him up at night sometimes, make him toss and turn and grin to himself, slip his hands under the sheets and fish himself out of his bottoms, hot and hard and tingling.

But they don’t keep him warm and cozy and happy.

He misses the moments and adventures he had with them in his head, the potential, the one-sided romance he imagined, that kept him occupied and entertained long enough to spend himself or lull himself to sleep. Sometimes he knows they have someone else with them while he’s alone staring up at the ceiling or fisting his sheets. And when the initial euphoria is gone, he is alone and achy and sad.

But at least it’s never too long before the next one comes around.

**_And so I fall in love just a little oh little bit_ **

**_Every day with someone new_ **


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: suicidal ideation, mention of attempted suicide, angst

> Ohh, how about what makes you blush? for Sackler?? ****
> 
> **Yaay, Sack boy, strange to say I missed him and writing for him! Thank you so much for requesting him <3**

I had a thought that might fit in here, so screw it, I’m using it.

§ It’s no wonder Adam has considered suicide.

§ He’s been trying to end himself in all sorts of ways ever since he could remember.

§ Getting into fights, drinking himself numb and senseless, pushing good people away, presenting a prickly unhinged persona to the world.

§ Is it really a huge jump to actually attempting to do something more to point about it then? Not to him.

§ It was a long time ago now and he mostly doesn’t think about it and it leaves him alone.

§ But some day, somehow, dark clouds start gathering.

§ He has family issues, his career starts and stops, people are shitty, and he feels his energy get lower. Field of vision narrowing. Color draining from the world around him.

§ And he doesn’t know why, how this could be happening how.

§ He has you; finally, someone good and stable and mesmerizing; his first secure attachment, as his therapist puts it; someone he doesn’t have to chase or fix or worry about or suffer for. Like an idiot, he thought that would be enough, he would be out of the woods.

§ But those thoughts come into his head out nowhere, about how easy it would be to just not exist. And he stops them as fast as he can, like leaking boards in the bowels of ship, stuffing corks into the cracks, dread consuming him as he hears them creak and bend under the pressure of an ocean of bad thoughts, threatening to burst in and crush him at any moment.

§ So he knows he has to tell you. Another fucking revelation he has to share. How you didn’t run after hearing about his reputation with women – you must have, he knows you must know – his awful family, his addiction, his bad attitude, his anger. It’s like he’s playing a sick game of how much you’ll put up with before you bend and break. Only he’s not sure if he’s playing to see how much you’ll get hurt, or he.

§ And now this too. He’d love to shut the fuck up about it and hope it will pass, but he too old to be lying and too in love to omit and risk hurting you needlessly.

§ So he stands fizzing with nervous energy, shifting from foot to foot, wanting to revert back and break stuff and run screaming down the street to drown out his thoughts and get away from himself, but he stays and talks – goes in circles, skirts around the point, spits and curses and stammers – but he talks and explains what is happening.

§ After a silence that almost makes his brain explode with tension, you get up, walk over to him slowly, carefully - like you’re trying not to spook him, and take his hand to lead him to the couch.

§ You hold the hand, examining it, like you’re seeing it for the first time. Run your hands up his thigh, like you need to make sure it’s him and he’s still there. Up his stomach, chest, cup his face and look at it all over, untying some Gordian knot, puzzling out an illogical riddle.

§ _I don’t know what’s a smart or sensitive thing to say here. It makes me sad and it confuses me, to be honest. That you struggle so much to love yourself. It’s the easiest thing to me, I couldn’t imagine not loving you for a moment. But I hope you’ll come to me when you can’t love yourself. Please?_

§ He is not good at receiving love, particularly the unconditional kind, so he knows it’s better to shut up and not say something he’ll regret later.

§ So he asks you drop the subject now, just move on like everything is fine. You eat, and sit together, you watching something with your headphones on, he reading a book and not taking anything in, turning over your words in his head, trying to find an angle from which they make sense, so he can plant them in his torn up heart, let them grow there and heal him. He thinks about what he can do; buy you flowers or some jewelry, write you a perfumed letter or just cry in your lap, something to show you that he loves you and that you’re worth living for through anything.

§ In the end, he does what he does best, takes you to bed and doesn’t stop when you say you can’t anymore, wrings out more from your body as you shake and paw at him and tears stream down your face, sweat streams down your chest and back, and he streams down your thighs.

§ When the episode is over and he is back to his normal, he thinks about what you said that day, about the looks you shared, how much you let him give and take, and he feels so much; he is humbled and grateful, touched and tearful, hot under the collar, besotted and loved back, and his whole face burns.


	13. Chapter 13

> can we get 4, 5, or 6 for Judie baby? — 🐝
> 
> **Ahh, of course, he’s the tenderest man, I want to give him everything <3**

**4\. What was your first kiss like?**

§ If you don’t count smacking the lips of some girls in kindergarten or playing spin the bottle, Jude’s first real kiss, with real intention, was with his first girlfriend. He brought her home after school, holding her hand on the way back, but too shy and sandpaper-mouthed to look at her as he did.

§ His house was usually empty, so they could have privacy. He took her around the yard to show her all the special places where he would play hide and seek or just disappear when he needed to be away from…his world.

§ Behind the tallest tree with the biggest canopy, he watched her pretty face so close to his as she looked up to see to the birds perched there and the setting sun cast rays of light through the leaves and he asked if he could kiss her. It felt like he was floating all the way to the top and beyond that lush canopy.

**5\. What was your last kiss like?**

§ Jude remembers his last kiss with Mina.

§ Affection and intimacy came so rarely and felt so forced so soon into their relationship, it completely baffled him. So the one before that, god, he couldn’t remember at all, couldn’t even guess at when it was. But the last one he could never forget.

§ He had fed Luca and brought him home and was trying with all his might to give him as much time to digest the food as he could. Mina wanted to sniff him like a bloodhound immediately, frisk him, frisk them both, take him into that damned bathroom and do he dared not think what.

§ She was busy washing some vegetables and making a mushy gruel, so he took the opportunity to distract her, keep her talking.

§ He asked about her garden, about what she was doing, preparing. She tried to brush him off, barely keeping a lid on her contempt for Jude, and go for Luca, but he caged her in with his hands on the counter on either side, out of instinct. In a split second, he remembered himself, trying to pass off the defensive maneuver as affection.

§ She turned inside his hold, eyes narrow, cold, suspicious. Jude tried to remember he once felt something for this strange creature and summon the ghost of that into his eyes. Making them scan across her features, pale, sunken, gaunt, to her lips, almost curling in disgust at his proximity, 

§ He gave some vague excuse for keeping her close; she works hard, she should take some time off, they should reconnect, as his stomach spun and twisted. She gave an equally vague refusal, trying to push lightly against his arm to let her go.

§ He crowded her more, fighting the desire to grab her and lock her in a room so she wouldn’t hurt anyone else until he could get Luca sorted out, and swallowed his animosity down, inching closer, nudging her nose with his, brushing his lips against hers.

§ His heart sank at all the negative emotions he felt at the contact, reminding him anew of how desperate his situation had become, but it worked for the moment. Mina left his son alone for a bit and that was all that mattered.

**6\. Sexual/romantic orientation?**

§ After Mina’s death, love and sex rarely entered Jude’s mind for a long, long time.

§ All he could think about was saving his son and giving him the opportunity to grow up happy and healthy.

§ When he thought back on that period, he might call it asexual. It felt like a foreign concept to him, and nothing but trouble.

§ Slowly, however, a desire to have a partner – a real one, stable, loving – crept back up on him. He wanted to give someone the kind of love you can only give to a partner. Someone to text his annoyances to, someone to talk to and gaze into their eyes, kiss at the end of a long day and stay pressed up to their lips and breathe in and out, someone to straddle him and scratch at his back and take his throbbing cock again and again and still want more.

§ But he needed to trust them first. Trust them more than even himself. Be able to close the door behind him and not feel the need to run back ten minutes later because his mind is screaming at him _that it was happening again_.

§ They needed to be strong and be able to take everything that his life entailed and that was a lot, perhaps too much, to ask.

§ So he had to get to know them first, before he again trusted and loved and gave his heart, his son, his life over to someone.


	14. Chapter 14

> #7 is just so perfect for Paterson! Would you tell us a little about it?
> 
> **Aww, it _is_ perfect for him! <3 Thank you for requesting that lovely, unique man <3**

**7\. Do you prefer poems or love letters?**

§ Paterson writes poems, such as they are, because that’s how words come to him, make sense to him.

§ He would feel so odd and out place stringing sentences together.

_You make my heart sing and head spin. You give me butterflies and make lava erupt in me. I think about you all the time._

§ Blargh.

§ So mundane, so prosaic, he’s seen it a million times and it somehow doesn’t feel personal at all to how he feels about you.

*

_beauty is a shell_

_from the sea_

_where she rules triumphant_

_*_

_scallops and_

_lion’s paws_

_sculptured to the_

_tune of retreating waves_

_*_

_undying accents_

_repeated till_

_the ear and the eye lie_

_down together in the same bed_

_*_

§ That is how he thinks of you, addresses you.

§ But you’re more of a prose person, in the way you speak and tell stories and address his heart.

§ While you were in that tentative, protracted flirtatious phase after his divorce, you would write him notes and letters and drop them off in his mailbox as you passed his house on the way back from work.

§ He would read them, over and over, use them as bookmarks and look at them, the curves and lines of your handwriting until he memorized everything. Whether it was deep confessions of trepidations and thoughts you weren’t sure he would understand – oh, but he did – or comments on annoying things you overheard and overplayed songs, he cherished all the words, and the pretty, sturdy paper, the good quality ink and the time you gave him, even when you weren’t with him, something of yours to hold until you belonged to each other.

§ So.

§ He prefers poems, to write, and letters, to receive.


End file.
